


Formal Wear

by beng



Series: 30 Days of Martin Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Clothes as a Symbol, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: Laid out on his bed, the rich, supple garments toll an end to something deeply personal.
Series: 30 Days of Martin Lavellan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080431





	Formal Wear

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [30 Days OC challenge](https://luinquesse.tumblr.com/post/187518711282/30-days-oc-challenge) by luinquesse.

The day Martin finally puts on the dark blue outfit he’s found hanging in his wardrobe a while ago, is the day he needs to sit in judgement for the first time in his life.

He’s reasonably well-versed in the textile crafts to appreciate the quality of the materials and the workmanship. He likes the colour too. But, laid out on his bed, the rich, supple garments toll an end to something deeply personal. 

They’re human clothes, and he’s Dalish.

He knows he can be easily misunderstood, with his hard-set belief in Vir Atish'an, his standoffish attitude, his pointed reminders about the shemlen treatment of his people. But he doesn’t _hate_ humans. He knows there are decent persons among them, from his step-father to Mother Giselle, to the Inquisition’s inner circle and beyond. He honestly doesn’t mind them as much as it may seem. 

But they’re humans, and he’s Dalish. He wants to _stay_ Dalish. When all this mess is over, he wants to go back and live in a damn aravel.

But he’s the head of a human, of a _Chantry_ organization fighting an ancient abomination. The day they’ll be able to put down their swords is nowhere in sight. His hand is glowing and most possibly slowly killing him. Being expected to sit in judgement of another person’s life is just another reminder that he won’t be able to ever leave all this behind. He is the Inquisitor. 

So when, hours later, in his room awash with the blazing red glory of a mountain sunset, he hesitantly puts on the human finery, it feels like something has finally died in his chest, something has whimpered and receded: a stupid hope he should have abandoned months ago.

He is the Inquisitor, and there is no way back for him.


End file.
